The Gruppe Security Job
by Lord Skye
Summary: After Fed and Saint Mary hit the Fleeca Bank franchise, Fed, with a new name and a new plan are at it again. This time the heist is bigger and they're going to need a few more hands.
1. Chapter 1

James Locke looked out his window, a drink in one hand and his black tie in the other. For almost two years he had been known as Fed, due to his clothing and his father's profession. But with the events that transpired the last few weeks, with what had happened at the Fleeca Bank and the enormaity of what it meant, it was time for a change. He had undergone this once before since coming to Los Santos. Despite his knowledge and drive, his criminal life had been very very small. Taking down drug deals and 'repoing' cars were what had kept a roof over his head and food in his stomach and, when he had made a few more influential friends, his lifestlye had changed. He had become Fed then, wearing suits in homage and mockery to the very person who had made him this way, and now, it had happened again. He had untucked his shirt, loosened the top buttons and removed his tie. He spun the glass somewhat to make the amber liquid swirl and downed the drink in one gulp, almost numb to the burning in his throat as he regarded the tie once more. "Parting is such sweets sorrow..." he said whimsically before letting the garmet fall into the wastebin. He looked back at the window, able to see his translucent self in the glass and smirked at what he saw. Fed was dead, he realized, and Shot Caller was looking back at him.

His thoughts were interupted by a knock at his door. He crossed his apartment, replacing his glass on the table, next to his bottle of Glengoolie Black which, somehow, never seemed to be any emptier until he desperatley needed to just get blind druk, and grabbed a yellow padded envelope. He knew who was at the door... it was Yahtzee. Yahtzee's real name was Christopher White but if you called him that he'd kill you. Maybe not literally but you'd find every secret and asset you hide electronically, in any form, gone the next day. Yahtzee was, possibly, the best hacker in the world and easily the best in Los Santos. Shot Caller only worked with the best and when he needed information, when his own brand of asking failed, he called in Yahtzee, which is why the man was knocking on his door, and why Shot Caller was holding an envelope with $100,000 in it.

Though wealthy, $100,000 was not an amount that Shot Caller enjoyed throwing around, but what Yahtzee had would be worth it... he sincerely hoped. Reaching his door he peeked through the eyehole in his door and saw his friend there. He didn't seem to have any heat with him but Shot Caller's hand still went to the gold plated pistol he had tucked in the back of his was in a holster but a few things had remained from his 'thug' days. He opened the door and the pair stared at each other.

"Fed." Yahtzee said in a curt greeting.

"Shot Caller." Locke corrected. "It's Shot Caller now."

Yahtzee blinked once and nodded. "Shot Caller." he said. Shot Caller nodded and took a step back and Yahtzee entered and the duo went into Shot Caller's media/ heist room. The room had been empty when Locke had moved in and he had used it for storage, before he got his boxcar, and then as a media room until Lester had decided to trust him with large scale robberies. Now it had a large map of LS, a white board and trunks for keeping heist materials in. Costumes, masks, holdalls, special weapons and other items including headsets, drills and the like. Yahtzee came in and set a laptop up to a projector and aimed it at the white board. "Okay," the hacker began, clicking folders open on the desktop. "You said you wanted armor van routes through the city."

"They're random." Shot Caller explained. "Even if you see one, a robbery is chaotic, hasty... not the kind of job you can do safely. I need the inside track, and a big take."

Yahtzee opened, on the screen, a map of LS with about nine different streams of different colored lines all over it. "These." he said. "Are the planned routes of a little over half a dozen armored vans. These three," he explained, leaving only the yellow, blue and green lines. "Are the most valuable, picking up from auto dealers and Ammu-Nations. By my predictions, they will have between five hundred thousand and 1.2 million in them." he looked at his compatriot. "That work for you, Shot Caller?" he asked, smiling at this employer's new name. Shot Caller nodded.

"Times?" he asked pointing at the green line. "For this one specifically."

"Makes its last stop..." Yahtzee said, tapping a few more keys. "At 7:00 PM in two days before it hits the Great Ocean highway, on its way to Paleto Bay Bank." Shot Caller nodded.

"Good, that's the one." He walked over to the small table and picked up the envelope full of cash and pressed it to Yahtzee's chest. "Just don't go too crazy with the spending." he said in a slightly warning tone.

Yahtzee took the envelope, felt the weiht and gave Shot Caller an eyebrow. "And that's because...?"

"This job." Shot Caller explained, indicating the map. "Is so I can eat out a few nights, and to finance another. A much much bigger one, one that I have a part for you in, and one that might take a big bankroll, so make sure you don't use it all on strippers and blackjack, alright?"

Yahtzee smiled a little. "More than a hundred grand?" he asked.

"If everything goes according to plan on it, I'm looking at eight figures for everyone involved." Shot Caller said with that trade mark smirk of his. "Keep an eye on your phone, alright?"

"You know it buddy." Yahtzee looked like he was going to say something else, but Shot Caller had his back turned and was staring, intently at the board. Yahtzee knew that look, a bomb could go off and Shot Caller wouldn't even flinch. He shook his head a little and left.

"Gruppe Security..." Shot Caller mused to himself. "What are we going to do about you."


	2. The Crew

Shot Caller clicked through the presentation he had made on his computer one more time, probably the dozenth since he had made it and then, satisfied, he headed down into his bedroom. His apartment didn't have too many doors to seperate rooms, but since the only people who were ever over were people he trusted implicitedly he didn't feel the need for a lot of borders. While in the hallways he went over the plan in his head. A few times he considered calling Lester to look over the job, but he didn't feel like giving ten percent of the take to that Oompa Loompa, nor did he want his apartment smelling like stale cheese puffs and shame the way it had after they had discussed the Fleeca Job. Satisfied that he had anticipated every eventuality he reached his bedroom and knelt down by his bed, pulling out a small box.

Inside were two cell phones. One was black and the other white. He picked up the black one and regarded it for a moment. This was a very special phone. It only made outgoing calls and it only called a couple numbers to other special phones that his crew had. His white one stayed in the box and it was the opposite of the black one. It was the phone his friends used when they needed his help. He ignored it though as he went back into the main apartment, flipping through the names, resting on that of Mr. Crank.

Though Shot Caller and his friends considered themselves all equals, there was a heirarchy. Shot Caller was at the top, but his best friend and his unofficial second-in-command was Mr. Crank. His real name was John Mason but he was Mr. Crank to everyone else. He had been his first choice to run the Fleeca Bank Job heist with, but Saint Mary had been the one to go with him by virtue of... well she was the only one he could get into contact with when the irons were hot. Mr. Crank, like all of Shot Caller's friends, was a jack of all trades, but while the saying was 'jack of all trades; master of none' Mr. Crank's description would be 'jack of all trades; master of one.'. Mr. Crank was a demolitions expert. If you needed something reducd to a pile of flaming slag and ash, Mr. Crank was the person to call. Shot Caller highlighted his name and pressed "call". It took a few moments to answer, probably because he had to find his special phone but answered after a moment.

"Fed?" the voice from the other side said.

"Shot Caller." Locke corrected, it was going to be a bit of a pain to train his crew to use this name but they'd get used to it.

"Shot Caller?" asked Mr. Crank in a voice that said 'Are you serious?'

"Yes." he said curtly. "It's my new name."

"Shot Caller?" Crank asked again.

"Crank," he said warningly. "Do you want to make some money or not?"

There was a pause, during which, Shot Caller was almost certain, Mr. Crank had let the hand holding the phone down while he silently raved at his friend, before speaking again. "What's the job?"

"We're hitting an armored van. Four of us,thinking a 200-250K split each."

There was another pause on the phone, long enough for Shot Caller to pull the phone from his ear and made sure that it was still connected, before spoke again. "Quarter of a million?" he asked, sounding skeptical.

"Quarter of a million."

"What do you need?"

"Two days." Shot Caller said, a smile growing on his face. "My place five PM. Midnight tactical and I need something kinda special for this."

"What?"

"I need a grenade launcher,modified to fire a tear gas cannister. Also, make sure you have enough gas cans and sticky bombs to turn the van into a pile of twisted metal and glass." laughed over the phone.

"Shot Caller," he said, the name sounding natural to his boss now. "If there's one thing I can do it's that."

"Glad to hear it." he said, snapping the phone shut. It might've been a little rude, but when discussing business, he said what was needed, confirmed he could get it, and then moved on. The next person he had to call was OD.

OD was born Daniel Conrad but after their first job together, Shot Caller gave him the name OD for two reasons. One, when he had met the man first, there job had been to blow up a car dealership's stock, Shot Caller had been very methodical, sneaking around slowly and carefully, planting C4 and then, with no warning, OD had lept over the fence with a rocket launcher, screaming 'EVERYTHING BURNS' and firing it way too liberally for Shot Caller's liking. He had a tend to over do things, hence OD. The second reason was, due to one of his moments of lucidity he had told Shot Caller that he had been injected with some tainted coke by an old associate who was tired of splitting the cut and he had never really recovered. Shot Caller had considered killing him himself, never one to leave a loose cannon running around with evidence against him, but OD was too valuable to be another name on his rap sheet. Plus, whenever he needed something out of the ordinary, OD was able to get it, and was usually already on his way to show it off.

"Fed?" the man said with a hint of laughter in his voice. Shot Caller shook his head, hoping his friend was simply coming out of one of his moods.

"My name's Shot Caller now." he said automatically. He also made a mental note to give all his contacts a ring and let them know or he'd never stop explaining it. "I got a job, and I need some help with the set up."

"Set up's my game!" OD answered before bursting out in a laughter that would make Impotent Rage ashamed. When it finally stopped Shot Caller went on.

"I need a black unmarked SUV, four Sanchez dirt bikes and about... 800 grand in counterfiet cash. It doesn't need to be perfect, it just needs someone giving it a once over to think it's the genuine article."

"Uh, that's a tall order." OD said. "It's not gonna be cheap."

"Doesn't need to be cheap, I need it to be right." he said, hoping his friend didn't think he was snapping. "Can you do it? I promise you will be properly compensated." There was a pause at the other end before OD responded. "Yeah, I should be able to manage that, when do you need it by?"

"Two days, before five PM because that's when I need you here in midnight tactical. Only being the SUV and the fake cash though. I'll text you the location I need you to stash the bikes at. We good?"

"We're good." responded OD. "You give me the loc, and they'll be there in hours."

"Glad to hear it." said Shot Caller. "And don't worry buddy. You're going to be making a buck or two on this." There was no response from the other end, just some manical laughter and the sound of a clown horn blasting in the distance before the line went dead. Shot Caller rolled his eyes and hung up. He refilled his drink a took the whole thing back before he went back into his phones contacts and called Saint Mary.

Saint Mary, was the moniker that Shot Caller had given to Alyssa Hart. She was the only "she" that Shot Caller had worked with and she was the only one that, for this job, he was sure could handle it. Mr. Crank and OD were excellent criminals but neither of them, despite running a lot of jobs with him, had never run a proper heist that was bigger than knocking over a liquor store. Saint Mary had run the Fleeca Bank job with him a few weeks prior, she also knew, better than any of them, Shot Caller's tactics and way of doing things. He was still a little nervous calling her. Mr. Crank was his demolitions guy, and OD was his driver, making Saint Mary his weapons girl. Whenever he needed weapons, she could always deliver and no mater how much range time he put in, Saint Mary always hit the bullseye more than he did.

"Fed?" her melodius voice called through the phone.

"Shot Caller." he said, really glad this was the last call he needed to make. "Ever since Fleeca it was time for a change."

"Someone's a little arrogant after knocking over an ATM with a roof?"

"The same person who got you able to sleep naked on a giant pile of money."

"When I'm naked and in bed, Shot Caller," she said in a sultry tone. "I'm not sleeping."

"Well I need you too for the next couple days, I've got a job, and there's a part for you in it." he said. "And it's going topay double what we made on the Fleeca job."

"Double?" came the reply, a little bit of spice in her voice.

"Double." confirmed Shot Caller. "But I need you to supply some equipment. I need bullets that can puncture bullet proof glass and you steady enough that you can hit a target three to five hundred feet away."

"Is that all?" she asked, a more serious tone in her voice. Shot Caller smiled at that. She could be a firecracker sometimes, but she knew when to pay attention.

"Yep." he said. "I also need you here, midnight tactical, two days, at five PM. Can you handle that?"

"That and so much more." she responded, lust back in her voice.

"See you then."

Shot Caller snapped the phone shut and poured himself another glassof Glengoolie Black, shooting it down and then a second. He poured a third and went back into his heist room and looked over the plan again. This needed to go off without a hitch.


End file.
